


Summer Snow

by alexxir



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), slight angst, these leaders out here miscommunicating smh, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxir/pseuds/alexxir
Summary: "I have questions that need answering," they finally admitted, grasping the mug firmly between two palms."Sure," he said, lowering his hand to his lap. "I think - no, I know I could answer some of them for you now."-x-In the aftermath of the fight against the remaining rebel forces, Claude and Byleth are reunited once again - but first, there's air to clear between them.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Kudos: 28





	Summer Snow

It wasn't going according to plan. 

The sharp, cold Fódlan air made him rattle in his regalia. He could feel it seap down into the bottom of his lungs when he took a slow, deep breath in. He was shaking, only slightly. Whether it was the weather or the fault of his nerves was yet to be seen. 

He should have been better prepared for this. Contingencies on contingencies - a mantra often repeated to himself, fallen short in matters of the heart, of all things. Make no mistake - it would have been a lie to admit being struck with a numbing soft of love sickness, because it was never as easy as that; _no_ , he thought grimly, fingers rubbing circles into a gloved palm, the reason for his negligence was a lot simpler. He had simply wished he wouldn't need to have a backup plan, and so he didn't. 

The guard standing post at the tent door watched cautiously as Claude approached. It took a few seconds for recognition to brighten in her eyes, lit up further by the glow of the crescent moon in the night sky, and she hurried into a bow. 

"Your Majesty," she said, holding still. She wasn't technically her king. He was touched at the sentiment regardless. 

"At ease," he replied. A casual wave sought to relax her. "May I speak to your Liege?" 

"I will see if they are prepared for visits."

He nodded, watching the guard part the seam flap and walk inside. Despite his carefully maintained distance, some warmth from the entrance was seeping out and wafting over him. He caught himself subconsciously leaning in to chase the feeling.

A few short moments later, the guard ducked back out. Her expression was remorseful. 

"My apologies, Your Majesty. They are not able to facilitate guests at this time."

"I see." He schooled his expression into something easy, something well practiced. "Please let Your Liege know to make their way to the Almyrain station out east at their earliest convenience. Tell them… tell them an old friend wants to catch up."

_An old friend_. 

The guard bowed again. He gave her a final wave, leaving her to face the ever steady bustle of a celebrating army.

It shouldn’t be difficult for Claude to school his disappointment. But perhaps he could cut himself some slack - after all, he did just travel a continent and drastically swung the tides of a war to be here. Was it so selfish to at least want an audience with them? 

He stared up at the crescent moon. The white light cast his surroundings with shadows long, deep, concealing. So often as a child he found himself staring up into the night sky for answers. He should give Byleth more time, perhaps. What else could he give? It was a fool’s errand to think they'd already forgiven him.

_Thank you... For everything. I'll be back before you know it. We'll only be apart for a short while._

Trudging on back to his own army’s hold bought some much needed reprieve. His soldiers were three rounds deep in the ale stash, unabashedly raucous in their celebrations, and when their “General-slash-King” arrived, it was only natural that the festivities exploded. Happy shouts and the clinks of mugs raised in cheers drowned out his thoughts, if only momentarily. 

“Your Majesty!” A mug was thrust into his hand, and he amply followed the gestures of his retinue to join in for the next round. 

-x-

It was well past midnight before Claude could escape the celebrations. His tent had been pre-warmed with a small stone fire pit in the centre, flames crackling away, and with a prominent exhale, he felt the harsh bite of the night air soon melt away.

To call him drunk would be a disservice. Pleasantly tipsy, perhaps - loose muscles but still sound of mind and as sharp as ever. It was his thoughts that kept him occupied as his nighttime routine went by in a haze- triple checking the tent for things out of place or missing. Undressing with care, sighing as the weight of his pauldron and leather armor fell to the ground. Reaching for the basin to scrub the blood and grime from both his battle gear and skin. The motions were like clockwork, but in a distinctly bittersweet way, and unbidden, memories resurfaced of camping during war patrols. 

A soft voice called out to him from beyond the tent’s walls. “Pardon me Your Majesty, but you have a guest here to see you.”

Claude’s heart skipped a beat. ”Sure, give me five,” he replied as smoothly as possible.

It could only be them, couldn’t it?

He donned a simple outfit- something to preserve his modesty, but nothing too complex or formal. A loose cotton robe and flowing slacks, wound together with a patterned sash at the centre. If a lieutenant had come to bother him late at night instead, he supposed he would be forgiven at this hour for not being the most presentable he could be.

He slicked his hair back nervously, straightening himself up as he approached the tent’s entrance.

There Byleth was.

Expression like steel and mouth pulled taut.

”Byleth!” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Or should I say, _Your Grace_.”

”Claude. Or should I say, _Your Majesty_.” 

It should have been playful. But the tone was so flat, lifeless. Claude squashed the observation down with a swallow and pointed inside behind him. “Would you care to come in for some tea? I can’t promise you the service will be stellar, but.” He gestured around. “I’m sure we’ll make do.”

Byleth nodded, and Claude let go of the breath he was holding. At least whatever they had to say, it wouldn't be out in the cold and in earshot of his crew.

They didn’t waste any time making themselves comfortable. Byleth quickly found a spot on the ground in careful distance of the firepit. Claude busied himself with procuring tea supplies - a tin of herbs, two wooden mugs, a flask and a small, portable tin kettle. “Would you do the honours?” He held the latter up, now full of water and ready to be heated. As Byleth raised a hand to the tin, the flames of a fire spell greedily lapping up its side, he dared a glance at their eyes. If they had allowed themselves to relax, he couldn’t see it. The smell of cinnamon wafted between them, pulling him out of his observations with a reminder to be a gracious host.

It was easy to divert to war talk. “I appreciate your last letter of warning. The use of encoding was remarkable - I have to admit, it stumped me for longer than it should have.” An easy chuckle, to lighten the mood. “I’m glad we made it on time. Truly.”

Byleth didn't seem to acknowledge him with more than a non-committal grunt. They eased their hand away from the kettle as Claude poured the now steaming tea into mugs, accepting theirs with little fuss. They remain silent through small and measured sips, watching him intently, so Claude takes that as an opportunity to continue.

“I met with my lieutenant general earlier. She’s confident our party didn’t suffer any losses.” A sigh. “It’s one small relief. A couple of the riders and their wyverns have been severely injured, but all in a stable condition with the healers, for now.” 

Byleth finally spoke, but their voice was quiet. “The monastery forces have been weakened. I’m not yet sure of the final headcount.”

Claude's nod was solemn. “Whether it’s one soldier or a hundred, a loss of a life is a loss unacceptable, regardless.”

They nodded back in agreement, and took another steady sip of tea. “Lysithea is working with a few of my men on the cleanup. She’s there to look for any signs off…” another sip. “Enemy survivors.”

Claude grimaces. “After what we saw on the Caledonian, I wouldn’t take any risks.”

The two of them let the silence resume again, occasionally interrupted by a crackle of flame or a particularly boisterous cheer in the distance. Byleth still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he wouldn’t press them on it. After all, he’s surprised (and grateful) they even came out to see him, the sting of the earlier rejection already having ebbed away. 

Something was on their mind, however - the controlled expression they previously wore had slipped into something more pensive.

“Some silver for your thoughts?”

He watched as their eyes drifted to the tent’s entrance. Sorrow weighted heavy on their brows, and his stomach rolled in unease.

“How is… Almyra.”

A loaded question, if Claude had ever heard one. He could play this in a million directions- If he could just figure out why they asked, what Byleth truly meant to gain from an answer-

“It’s…. It’s like coming home to a house with things askew and out of their proper place,” he decided with honesty. He placed his mug down on the ground and wrung his hands together. “Familiar, but different. A lot has changed in six years. I was lucky that the timing couldn’t have been better, politically speaking.” He willfully ignored the slight flash of hurt across their face. “The whole continent was paying attention to your efforts here. A few grandiose tales of heroism and intrigue, and a sample of the weaponry and fabrics, and now the council is finally softening to the idea of a treaty.” He allowed himself a smile at the memory. “The young soldiers I bought with me today will be the final puzzle piece. They’ve had their taste of the Fodlan mystery, free of old rivalries, and will want more.”

“I see.”

“It took some work being able to come back, but as you can see,” he gestured around with a light chuckle, “I’m here, now.”

“You’re here,” Byleth repeated, dully. Claude felt his smile falter. 

“I’m here,” he said, softly. “I’m-”

_I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner. I’m sorry I couldn’t write as often, that the colossal effort of ascending a throne occupied my days and nights, fighting against enemies seen and unseen, that even despite the weariness of change my mind would often wander back to you._

He swallowed, trying to wrestle back the urge to defend himself. If they had something to say, he would be receptive, be patient. “There’s something you want from me.”

Byleth's gaze was steely again. “I want a lot of things I can’t have, Claude.” 

Ouch. He reached to pat the back of his head. "Well, maybe I can help with some of those things?" 

Perhaps Byleth wasn't expecting such a smooth response. Their eyes cast downwards. When they looked back up again, their gaze was somewhere distant. 

"I have questions that need answering," they finally admitted, grasping the mug firmly between two palms. 

"Sure," he said, lowering his hand to his lap. "I think - no, I know I could answer some of them for you now."

Faint laughter from the merriment outside carried between them. Claude looked wistfully towards its source - unable to see past the tent cloth, but using his mind's eyes to imagine it, and waited for Byleth to speak again. 

"You didn't tell the others, before you left."

Claude’s apology was heavy on his eyes. He didn't look back at Byleth while he spoke. "What was there to say? That I was leaving the continent, that I'd say ‘see you eventually’ and be faced with concern and worry I couldn’t alay?” The excuse sounded silly the moment it left him, and he grimaced. “The letters _were_ my thanks and goodbye.” 

Handwritten notes, to each of the Golden Deer and signed with the Riegen sigil, left at their doorsteps in their monastery rooms. He had risen at the crack of dawn to deposit them and took off with his Immortal Corps shortly after. If there was any reaction he would’ve paid good coin to see, though, he supposed it would’ve been Lorenz’s. He wondered how he was doing these days. Not how the Gloucester estate was functioning - his intel kept him well-informed - but his health? Ambitions? Was he wedded? The same questions for the rest of the deer arose like meerkats popping up from the earth - and abruptly he shook them from his thoughts. 

“They were shocked. Hurt.”

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he found himself unable to disguise the truth. “I - I couldn’t face them.”

Staying would have him face a certain kind of reality; the realisation that the bonds formed through war were stronger than he anticipated, strengthened over time and experience, and more invested than he ever intended to be with the knowledge he’d one day have to leave again.

“Was it the same for me?”

It was as if an arrow had sunk into his chest; with a painful _thunk-thunk_ , his heart fell to the pit of his stomach. With a deep, calming breath, he sat up a little straighter to answer back. 

“Byleth, do you still believe in my dream?” A question for a question. They nodded, eyes softening. Not quite pity, not quite an understanding. Longing, perhaps? “When I promised you I’d return, I wanted that dream to be flourishing. To be ready for me to be by your side. But it’s not that simple, now.” A small exhale. “And for a long time, I told myself it wasn’t fair to you to return without being accomplished.”

A hand reached for his - calloused and battle-worn, just like his own. _They're not wearing gloves_ , he noted dumbly as he rubbed the pad of his thumb across their fingers.

“Was that all?”

“Perceptive as ever,” he chuckled, though the mirth in it is strained. They squeezed their grip over his palm, as if to encourage him to elaborate. “I was afraid. Of failure, at first. But I think I was more afraid to come back and find that you’d moved on.”

It was perplexion that marred their features now. Looking up from beneath those pale-green bangs, hand still firmly grasped over his, a soft voice admitted, "I've been working on reform. Enacting your dreams, too. How could I forget?" 

"You didn't… you didn't say much, in your letters."

"Neither did you."

"And all my reports said you were resentful of your position."

"I wasn't made for this, but… I did not wish to let you down."

The words swam around until suddenly, a spark of understanding fired off- a puzzle piece in place, the missing part to the friction between them. Claude knew Byleth could sense it too from the moment he raised his free palm to his forehead. 

"We've been worried about the same things,” he said, softly, in disbelief.

A smile broke out across Byleth’s face. It was _enchanting_. He couldn’t take his eyes of them, finding himself mirroring the expression. 

Before long, a chuckle escaped him, and to his delight, Byleth’s own shoulders shook with laughter.

“We’ve been fools,” he admitted with a shake of his head. The air in the tent felt warmer, softer. He dared to shuffle in closer to them, placing their joined hands on his lap. “I’d say something about a ‘lesson well taught, Teach’, if I didn’t feel so relieved.”

With the tension unwound, conversation flowed between them much easier. Claude caught up on all the news no spy intel could ever garner - the wellbeing of their friends - and in turn, Claude shared memories worth sharing, the ones that bought a smile to his face, or revealed more about himself, bit by bit, in that roundabout (endearing) way of his.

-x-

“I should get going. I need some rest.”

Claude extended a hand to the tent’s entrance, bending down into a bow. “I could think of nothing better right now than a good night’s sleep. Shall I accompany you back?”

With a languid stretch and a crack of their knuckles, Byleth wasn’t hard-pressed to agree. The post-adrenaline exhaustion had long settled in, and they didn’t fancy themselves getting caught in any discussions on the way back. At least with Claude by their side, this late at night, they’d be unlikely to be disturbed.

Byleth shuffled to the door, taking a moment to bow themselves and duck underneath Claude’s extended arm. Perhaps it was the thought of sleep (or each other) that distracted them both, that stopped them from noticing the new drizzle of snow in the air once they had both made it outside.

It wasn’t until a snowflake landed squarely on Byleth’s nose did Claude pay attention. Biting back a grin, his hand extended forward - reaching for their face and stopping half-way, palm facing upwards, playing off the gesture as a way to catch the falling ice.

“That’s new,” he observed, tiling his head to the sky. Byleth shuffled in closer, matching his gaze. “I hope it stays light on the roads.” 

The smile he’d grown to love had once again bloomed across Byleth’s face. “Like this, I’m sure it will.”

A sudden thought struck Claude. He put a hand to his chin, one side of his mouth cocked slyly. “You know, there's an old folk tale from back home that seems oddly fitting here. Have you heard about the Summer’s Snow?”

The slight question in their brows edged Claude on. He cleared his throat.

“It’s a story from out in Almyra’s west. A lost man sat at the base of some mountain ranges. It was late at night, and a travelling stranger from on the road approached him, concerned for his well-being out in the cold. When the stranger enquired as to why he was alone, the man confessed he was praying to the gods of winter and the earth that his lover shall return from the mountain peak. Not a single person had ever safely returned, however, for this mountain was in the realm of the gods, and mortals who entered to ask for favours seldom left."

He had caught Byleth's interest now. The two strolled through the encampment languidly, but the sparkle of curiosity kept a certain kind of thrill buzzing through Claude’s veins.

“When the stranger noted this, the man shook his head. He said it would be different this time - that his lover had gone seeking help to save his life. And that he knew it worked when he had suddenly recovered his energy, and was no longer bound to his deathbed. But yet his lover had not returned. So he would wait at the base of the mountain until they came back to him.

“But the stranger laughed, and told the man to leave. That his lover would have already returned. When the man refused to believe him, the stranger said, ‘If you are woken by snowfall at first light, gather your belongings and return to your lodgings.’ The man could hardly believe the stranger - snowfall in summer? But sure enough, the man woke the next day dusted from head to toe in it.”

Claude paused for dramatic effect. “So, the man trekked on home, and who else was waiting for him outside but the one he’d waited for all this time? After their tearful exchange of affection, their lover confessed that they thought the man had long since perished, and had begun to come to terms with the loss- but when building a grave for them, a stranger approached them, and promised them that if snow fell at dawn, their husband would return.”

Byleth’s eyes went wide. 

“The stranger in this tale was the god of the earth and the god of devotion and loyalty. It was a test to prove just that, to grant them worthy of their blessing. I think over time, the tale came to signify something special for the first snowfall of the year.”

Byleth was silent for a bit, and then nodded. “I see why you thought it was fitting.”

At that, Claude threw his head back and laughed. “The crossed wires! The distance between them!”

“Was that all to the story?” Byleth cocked their head, the glimpse of a grin evident in their features.

“I mean, there was lots of hugging and kissing, a impressive feast that lasted several days and nights to celebrate their reunion- but if you’re offering to replicate that, well-”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Byleth’s humour was a salve, nostalgic in a way he didn’t know he craved until now. Standing outside their tent, ready to part ways, Claude laid a hand on their shoulder. “Thanks for coming to talk to me.”

“Thanks for the support in battle.”

“Any time,” he said, unable to keep a chuckle from his words. He leaned in close. “Breakfast with me before the council tomorrow?”

Their eyes flicked up to his eyes, to his lips. “Gladly.”

Standing a few away, the guard on post at Byleth’s tent made a pointed effort to look in the other direction, cheeks aflame despite the bitter winter air. If pressed, they would have mumbled something about discretion. 

**Author's Note:**

> me, sipping my gin and tonic, fan pointed at my face: it's summer here, bitches. christmas in summer. this may or may not have affected my inspiration for this fic's title and tale.
> 
> written for the Winter Delights #Claudeleth 2020 exchange! thanks for reading!


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